The tree finished growing.
There was no ceremony to the moment — no final dramatic surge, no sound. The canopy simply 'held,' the leaves going still in the way of something that had reached completion and settled into what it had always been becoming. The golden fruit hung heavy on the upper branches, the light through the leaves had found its permanent quality, and the roots, visible in long smooth ridges through the soil, stopped moving.
Silence.
Then Viktor opened his eyes.
He stood with the ease of someone rising from a chair rather than from two hours of whatever had just happened — no stiffness, no adjustment required. He turned.
